The village of Millbrook is usually a loud place.
I know, because I came here often while I was building our cabin. On market days you can hear the whole square from the road: people shouting prices, a baker singing badly, chickens arguing with each other, children running and screaming for no reason.
That morning, when Noctavia and I walked through the gate, all of that stopped.
It didn't fade out slowly. It stopped like someone had dropped a blanket over the whole village. A rooster started to crow, and then it just... didn't. A boy dropped his basket of apples and didn't pick it up. Somewhere, a door closed very gently.
I looked around happily. "Good morning, everyone!"
Nobody answered.
Beside me, Noctavia pulled her hood lower. She was wearing a long gray coat to hide her tail, though the end of it kept poking out below the hem, twitching in all directions. Under the hood, her ears were bright red.
"Why is it so quiet?" she whispered. "Did you tell them I was coming?"
"No."
"Then why are they staring at me like I'm about to eat them?"
"You are the Demon Lord," I whispered back.
"I'm a customer today!"
I decided not to say anything, because I love her.
Our first stop was the bakery. The baker was a big man named Harlan, with arms thick as tree trunks. When he saw us come in, he went completely pale. He stood very still behind the counter, the way you would if you saw a bear in your kitchen.
"G-good morning," he said, in a tiny voice.
Noctavia stepped forward. She straightened her back, the way she did on the Ashen Plains, and spoke in her most terrifying voice.
"I would like to purchase one loaf of bread."
"Y-yes, of course, my... my lady. Anything. It's free."
"Free?" Her eyebrows went down. "I'm buying it. I have money." She took out a small bag and dropped three silver coins on the counter, with a loud clink. "Here."
Harlan stared at the coins. A loaf of bread costs about one copper. Three silver was enough for the entire shop.
"Noctavia," I said gently, "that's too much."
"It's a fair price for something the Demon Lord eats!"
"It's bread."
She looked at the coins. Then at the bread. Then at me, with a face that said, You could have told me earlier. I took back two of the silver coins, gave Harlan one copper and a few extra for his trouble, and bowed my head politely.
"Thank you, Harlan."
"...Thank you, Hero," he said, still very quietly. "And... and congratulations. On the wedding."
Noctavia froze.
I could see her trying to figure out what to do with a human being kind to her. Her tail wrapped around her own leg. Her lips pressed into a straight line.
"...Hmph," she said.
That's Thank you, by the way. I've added it to the dictionary.
The rest of the morning went the same way. At the vegetable stall, the old woman handed us a sack of potatoes without a word and then ran away. At the salt merchant's, the man gave us the best salt in his shop, and then he apologized when Noctavia asked how much it cost. At the well, three women stopped talking, all at the same time, and went back inside their houses.
By noon, Noctavia was clutching the bread against her chest. She'd stopped talking.
"I told you this wouldn't work," she muttered. "I'm the terror of nine kingdoms. They'll never see me as anything else."
"That's not true."
"Look around, Elise."
I looked. The square was empty. Every window was shut. And yet, if you looked closely, you could see curtains moving in the corners. People were watching. Not with hate, I think. They were just not sure whether they were allowed to breathe.
I opened my mouth to say something comforting, and a small voice said, "Excuse me?"
We both looked down.
A little girl stood in front of us. She was maybe six years old, with messy brown hair and a missing front tooth. She was holding a handful of yellow flowers, the kind that grow in the ditch along the road. Her mother was behind a barrel nearby, making frantic hand signals.
"Are you the Demon Lord?" the girl asked.
Noctavia stiffened. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then she raised her chin.
"I am the Demon Lord of the Black Throne," she said, in her most dignified voice. "I am the terror of nine kingdoms."
"Okay." The girl thought about it. "Your ears are really red."
I heard the entire village inhale at once.
Noctavia's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her tail slipped out from under her coat and curled up, very slowly, like a question mark.
"That is," she said, "because of the sun."
"It's cloudy," said the girl.
"The sun is hidden."
"Oh." The girl nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and held out the flowers. "These are for you. Because you're pretty."
Nobody moved.
The Demon Lord, who had once burned down a mountain pass in a single night, stared at a handful of ditch flowers as if they were a very dangerous spell. Her hand came out of her sleeve, and it was shaking a little. She took them.
"...Thank you," she said, in the quietest voice I've ever heard from her.
The girl beamed, said "Bye!" and ran back to her mother. And somewhere, behind a shutter, someone let out a long breath.
We walked home in silence. The sack of potatoes was on my shoulder, and the bread was in Noctavia's arms. In her other hand, held very carefully so she wouldn't crush it, was a small bunch of yellow flowers.
"Don't tell anyone about this," she said.
"I'm going to tell everyone."
"Elise."
"I'm going to write it in a book."
"I'll kill you."
"Please do," I said happily, and she hit me in the arm with the bread.
That evening, I found the flowers in a glass jar on the kitchen table, with fresh water. Noctavia was sitting beside them, pretending to read, and she hadn't turned a page in an hour.